Break This Crown
by xstormqueenx
Summary: As Negan's kid sister, Morgana stands to inherit the kingdom he's ruthlessly carved out of the wilderness that is the world. But when she crosses war paths with Rick Grimes, the fight for the throne becomes personal. {AU}.
1. Home-Town Glory

**Author's Note:** Videos for characters canon and original, can be found on my Youtube channel via the link on my profile.

* * *

 **Home-Town Glory**

"Fucking kiss Lucille good-bye, kid."

"Lucille can kiss my ass," Morgana drawled, tossing her black hair back, not missing the way she was being watched, appreciating her audience as always with a smirk.

Negan glanced at the group of nearby men awaiting orders, his jaw tightening. "You need a good fucking kick up the ass," he said caustically, "but I wouldn't subject Lucille to such a fucking ordeal."

"Who do you love more? Me or that fuckin' bat?" Morgana taunted, tilting her head to the side.

"What do you fucking think, kid?" Negan snapped. "Lucille's the only lady in my life, nobody else, not even you, brat, sister or not. You're a fucking thorn in my side, the fucking bane of my existence."

Morgana's smirk became a full blown grin, a crooked smile that slowly spread across her face like a sunrise, making her amber eyes dance with malicious glee. Without a word, she lit up a cigarette, Negan raising his eyebrows as she exhaled a cloud of smoke in his face, daring him to do something about it. "So what's the score, brother dearest?" she almost taunted, making Negan take a step forwards, forcing Morgana to take a step back.

"Fucking bring me back those two bitches and that dickhead Dwight, or Lucille will be very fucking angry," Negan said quietly, something in his eyes making Morgana reluctantly stub out her cigarette, her own jaw tightening, throwing into relief the family resemblance between brother and sister. Both were dark and striking, but that was as far as the similarities went, all surface and no substance, Morgana knowing her limits, Negan battering barriers into submission.

"They refuse to fuckin' bend the knee," Morgana muttered, shaking her hair back, "so why waste time and resources on findin' them? Let the roamers do the dirty work."

"Because Lucille will fucking make them kneel," Negan said, eying his bat lovingly. "But it's not just about them acknowledging who's the motherfucking king around here," he said, raising his voice, so everyone knew he was addressing them, "it's about fucking taking back what they took. They fucking stole from me, from all of us. Unless you fucking earn it" -

"You're fuckin' empty-handed, yada-yada," Morgana finished, rolling her eyes, "yeah, I know your National Anthem."

"We're all fucking singing from the same fucking song sheet, kid," Negan said, ruffling up her hair, "but I fucking sing solo, because this is my fucking Magnum Opus," he said, gesturing around him with a wide sweeping motion of his arm, "my life's work, the fucking jewel in my fucking crown. When I'm fucking gone, you're going to fucking keep this going, kid, come hell or high water, the dead or the living."

"What happens if you have a kid of your own, though?"

Negan just threw back his head and laughed, the sound echoing around the compound walls. "You should be a fucking comedian, kid," he boomed, slapping her on the back, making her stagger, "but the question still fucking stands, I s'pse. Ain't gonna fucking happen though, brat, and it's not through lack of trying either – all my beloved wives seem to be fucking barren, so it's not on the cards, not even if a fucking angel came out of the fucking sky and said I was the fucking Second Coming."

"I thought you were."

"I am," Negan said seriously, completely missing the sarcastic note in his sister's voice, "but I don't fucking need a fucking angel to fucking tell me that."

"So when you're gone, I'll be the fuckin' queen of this shit-hole," Morgana said quietly, shifting her shoulders in unconscious anticipation of her brother's burden.

"And what a fucking shit-hole it is," Negan said proudly, "the best fucking shit-hole since the fucking shit hit the fucking fan."

 _I like it in the city when two worlds collide_ _  
_ _You get the people and the government_ _  
_ _Everybody taking different sides…_


	2. Come And Fade Me

**Don't Get Cut On My Edges**

As Morgana half dragged Dave back to the others, the silence was suddenly shattered by distant screams and shouts, the trees suddenly swarming with roamers, the sight stunning Morgana into immobility for a moment. Then she was running, mercilessly hauling Dave along in her wake, Morgana yelling into her radio, tripping and stumbling as she moved, the world a wild whirl around her.

"Wade!?" she shouted, letting go of Dave to draw out her gun, taking down two roamers to the right of them. "Fuckin' answer me, man!"

"Morgana!" Wade's voice came crackling through, desperate, damned. "Where the fuck are you!? We're fucking surrounded!"

"Get the hell out of there!" Morgana screamed, doubling back for Dave. "Don't wait for me!"

"What part of surrounded, don't you understand!?" Wade bellowed back. "And I'm not fucking leaving you behind!"

"Take the trucks and fuckin' go!" Morgana spat. "And that's a fuckin' order, asshole!"

The only reply she got was static, but she ruthlessly repressed the urge to turn back, being held hostage by the here and now, taking out several more roamers as she ran, Dave sobbing like a baby, slowing her down, slowly dragging her to her death. In one last ditch attempt to hold onto what was left of her humanity, she tried to reach Wade again, then Marco, only to find she was all but alone, and then she turned and shot Dave through the forehead, cutting herself loose, casting herself adrift.

* * *

 _And I've been sitting at the bottom of a swimming pool_ _  
_ _For a while now, drowning my thoughts out with sounds…_

Morgana collapsed to her knees, out of energy, out of ammunition, bitter tears blinding her despite her best efforts to block reality out. She had committed worse sins, executing innocent people so the rest would fall into line, but she had never bailed on her own men before, always going behind enemy lines to bring them back, even the lame dogs like Dave and Marco.

She'd royally screwed the mission up, losing most of her men, their deaths a double kick in the gut. If Wade and the others had gotten out, if he hadn't wasted time playing the hero, waiting for her, if they could maybe reach Marco, she could salvage something from the situation, but she didn't know, and she might never know. The only saving grace left to her was that Dwight and the others were long gone, meaning that moment of weakness would never be brought to Negan's attention.

This wasn't the first time she'd fucked up, but she'd always brought the mission back from the brink at the last minute, forcing herself to get her head back in the game. Her recklessness cloaked her incompetency, but it looked like her luck had finally ran out. She'd lost men before, but not on this scale, with nothing to claw back from the chaos, no supplies or chattels to balance their losses, making the mission a complete and utter disaster.

She stood up, the sunlight piercing her eyes like shards of glass, forcing her to shield her face from its glare with the back of her hand. Three roamers stumbled towards her, more in the distance, but she'd lost the rest by sacrificing Dave, the dead descending upon him like locusts, tearing him apart with their bare hands. Drawing out her machete, she took out the trio, shaking from head to foot as she did so, her breath coming in harsh rasps, her lungs feeling like they were on fire.

For a moment, she felt like she was going to faint, joining the corpses littering the ground, but the overwhelming instinct to survive forced her forwards, heading further into hell. She staggered and stumbled through the trees, trying to stay ahead of those still on her trail, knowing they wouldn't stop, that they would never stop, running her into the ground, not stopping until they stripped the skin from her bones.

* * *

"Back away from the fuckin' bike."

Daryl turned around, only to find himself facing the barrel of a gun, not knowing both chambers were empty, only knowing surprised surrender. As Morgana stared him down, amber eyes oddly empty, she didn't see Daryl, only seeing what she could take from him.

She'd been stumbling through endless undergrowth, each footstep taking her further and further away from all that she knew, when a flash of movement from up ahead had caught her attention, Morgana edging closer, only to see a man wheeling his motorbike towards the road, not knowing he had just parted ways with Dwight and Sherry after burying Tina, only knowing she had stumbled across a second chance, that she had to seize it and now.

Morgana had spent her whole life in Negan's shadow, in the old world and the new; it was only and always because of Negan, her existence an exalted one, her every order obeyed because she was of Negan's blood. She had never had to stand on her own two feet, not like this, forced to think for herself. She didn't have Negan's might behind her now, only her two bare hands, and they had to take what they could get.

 _I_ am _just like him_ , Morgan finally realised, _blood will always will out_. She'd always felt herself different from her brother, but deep down, they were cut from the same cloth, ruthlessness running through their veins. "Back away from the bike," Morgana repeated, "or I will end your ass."

"Ain't got much of an ass to end," Daryl growled, refusing to be intimidated, remaining by the bike. He recognized her from earlier on, some jumped up piece of ass on a power trip, all front and no back, getting out of the kitchen when the heat became too hot to handle.

"Do you want me to split you in fuckin' two?" Morgana hissed, tightening her grip on the gun, gambling everything on an illusion. "Straight through to the sinuses?"

"Y'know, that's the best offer I've had since everythin' went to shit."

Morgana studied him for a moment, jaw tightening. " _Y'know_ you could be one of mine," she said bitterly, noting his leather vest and surly stare, "but thank fuck you're not, so fuckin' ditch the bike, and the crossbow while you're at it, along with anythin' else you got."

Daryl stared at her for a long moment, before raising the crossbow strap over his head, dumping the weapon at her feet almost like an offering, along with his hunting knife. Morgana snatched the crossbow up, slinging it over her shoulder, the crossbow clattering against the rifle, even as it was no use to her, not having the strength to draw it, before kicking the knife away, becoming lost from sight amongst the overgrown grass. "Now the bike, sunshine," she ordered again, "just step away from it nice and slow."

"Why?" Daryl drawled, feigning ignorance, the last bastion of rebellion.

"Because it's not yours," Morgana said, tilting her head to the side, "none of it's yours anymore. Your ass is mine."


	3. Do The People Whisper

**Do The People Whisper**

 _Are you high enough without the Mary Jane like me?_ _  
_ _Do you tear yourself apart to entertain like me?_ _  
_ _Do the people whisper 'bout you on the train like me?_ _  
_ _Saying that you shouldn't waste your pretty face like me?_

Morgana crept through the trees, following the trail of footprints, her rifle slung over her shoulder, gun in hand, her radio in the other, repressing the sense of unease that was growing stronger and stronger with each passing second. She was now up against four instead of three, no longer knowing what she was dealing with, now there was this wild-card on the scene. Without her brother's might behind her, she was weak, exposed, a sitting duck, something someone of her bloodline should never be.

She'd forced Wade and the others to wait by the roadside with the vehicles, overruling their objections, desperate to deal with this on her own. All she had to do was deploy Dave elsewhere, and she would have the situation under her control again, the very prospect making her sweat, realising too late how deep a hole she'd dug herself.

"Look, let's end this, guys," Morgana called out hoarsely, sensing she was being watched, making the hairs stand up on the back of her neck.

"It's ours," Sherry called back, her voice echoing oddly around the trees, "we earned what we took."

"Did you really?" Morgana said scathingly. "Because I don't think you fuckin' did!"

"What else were we supposed to do, Morgana!?" Sherry yelled back, her voice cracking. "Let my baby sister screw your brother so he would give her the medication she needs to stay alive!?"

Morgana exhaled sharply, Sherry's words hitting home, striking her conscience like a blow. With wide hazel eyes and delicate features, Sherry's diabetic teenage sister had unfortunately caught Negan's eye and attention. It was Morgana who usually brokered her brother's 'marriage' deals, picking out pretty women who were willing to take up residence in his harem in exchange for a life of luxury, handing them over to Negan without batting an eyelid.

But Morgana had backed away from approaching Tina, something stopping her from crossing that line, knowing that Negan was manipulating Tina's need for the insulin for his own ends. He'd wanted Tina, but he wouldn't force himself on her, Negan prepared to play the long game instead, trading her desperation for his desire. He'd lain his cards on the table, turning the charm on, giving Tina the chance to take him up on his offer of 'marriage' or walk away. It was her choice, not his. He wanted his women willing, even as he paid them like prostitutes.

"Your brother's rules are bat-shit!" Sherry then shouted, making Morgana's hackles rise.

"They keep us safe!" Morgana retorted, raising her gun, trying and failing to find a target.

"We're not goin' back, Morgana," Dwight yelled, "we're done kneelin'!"

"You kneel or you die, Dwight, your choice!"

"Please, Ana," Tina pleaded, her voice cracking, "don't make us go back."

Morgana turned on the spot, caught between the devil and the deep blue sea. "Fuckin' hell," she muttered, hating herself, hating them more for making her feel like this. "Fuckin' hell!" She suddenly turned and booted the nearest tree, jarring her bones, the pain ricocheting through her leg. Cursing, she raised the radio to her lips, the blood boiling through her veins. "Eyes fuckin' open!" she ordered Wade. "They're in the local vicinity. Cover your quadrant. Go to Alpha channel" - Just then, she heard Dave suddenly scream from somewhere up ahead, making her neck snap round. She took off towards the sound, only to find Dave on his knees beside the corpse of a Walker, his chubby hand clutching his arm, tears streaming down his face. " _Shit_ ," she hissed upon seeing the bite-mark, "double-fuckin' shit!"

"Do somethin', Ana," Dave sobbed, "I don't wanna die!"

Without a word, Morgana dragged him over to a rock, forcing him to lay his arm out on it like a slice of meat. She undid her belt, tying it just above the bite in a makeshift tourniquet, before drawing out her machete, her stomach heaving as she raised it above her head. This wasn't the first time she'd had to do this, and it wouldn't be the last. There was a flash, then a thud, Dave letting out a scream that cut right through her, the sound almost inhuman.

As he lay there, half fainting, a voice came over the radio, making Morgana's head snap up. "Marco? Are you there?" she demanded, glancing around her, hoping to hell Dwight and the others were using this as an opportunity to escape. "Do you copy, Marco!?"

"I'm – I'm here" -

\- "Where!?"

He stuttered out a location, Morgana gritting her teeth, trying to rein in her impatience.

"What happened, Marco!?" she snapped, her grip tightening on her gun, still sensing eyes on her.

"We – we fucked up!" he gasped, his words making her own eyes widen. "Hit the wrong people" -

\- "What the hell do you mean you hit the wrong people!?"

"Some ginger dude and a woman, along with some motherfucker on a motorbike" -

\- "What about Jeremiah and the others?"

"They're gone, and the transport's totally totalled, man" -

\- "What do you mean they're fuckin' gone!?" Morgana almost screamed, losing control. "What the fuck went down, Marco!?"

"These people - they gunned down Jerry and Nathan, and the roamers got Nico and Shep, then Neil and Leon" -

\- "Where did the fuckin' bastards go!?" Morgana demanded, trying and failing to calm herself down, feeling like she was going to throw up.

"I don't know," Marco almost wept, "the fuckers split after they shot Jerry and Nathan. You need to come and get me, man, I'm stuck up some scaffolding, there's roamers everywhere" -

\- "Just hang tight, we're comin' for you," Morgana choked out, before hauling Dave to his feet, making him cry out in pain. "I told you to fuckin' stay put!" she snapped, smacking him around the head, making him cry out again. "You fuckin' deserve all you get for wanderin' off!"

"I-I thought I heard somethin'!"

"You heard that," Morgana spat, jerking her head at the dead Walker, "now fuckin' move your fat ass, we're getting' out of this shit-hole."

"But Dwight and that, they're here!" Dave protested through his pain. "I heard you talkin' to them!"

"And now they're fuckin' gone, thanks to you!" Morgana retorted, kicking aside his decapitated hand, shoving him ahead. "Wade, do you copy?" she then snarled, raising the radio to her lips as she followed the still sobbing Dave through the trees.

"I hear you, boss."

"We're wrappin' this up," she said abruptly, "Dave got bit, he's in a bad way, and the shit's hit the fan at Marco's end."

"What about the mission?"

"We can only take this so fuckin' far," Morgana said, raising her voice so it carried through the trees, "and my darlin' brother only wants ass that's willin'. Plus I've lost more than half my men. So I think it's time we hit the fuckin' road, yeah?"


	4. Don't Get Cut On My Edges

**Don't Get Cut On My Edges**

As Morgana half dragged Dave back to the others, the silence was suddenly shattered by distant screams and shouts, the trees suddenly swarming with roamers, the sight stunning Morgana into immobility for a moment. Then she was running, mercilessly hauling Dave along in her wake, Morgana yelling into her radio, tripping and stumbling as she moved, the world a wild whirl around her.

"Wade!?" she shouted, letting go of Dave to draw out her gun, taking down two roamers to the right of them. "Fuckin' answer me, man!"

"Morgana!" Wade's voice came crackling through, desperate, damned. "Where the fuck are you!? We're fucking surrounded!"

"Get the hell out of there!" Morgana screamed, doubling back for Dave. "Don't wait for me!"

"What part of surrounded, don't you understand!?" Wade bellowed back. "And I'm not fucking leaving you behind!"

"Take the trucks and fuckin' go!" Morgana spat. "And that's a fuckin' order, asshole!"

The only reply she got was static, but she ruthlessly repressed the urge to turn back, being held hostage by the here and now, taking out several more roamers as she ran, Dave sobbing like a baby, slowing her down, slowly dragging her to her death. In one last ditch attempt to hold onto what was left of her humanity, she tried to reach Wade again, then Marco, only to find she was all but alone, and then she turned and shot Dave through the forehead, cutting herself loose, casting herself adrift.

* * *

 _And I've been sitting at the bottom of a swimming pool_ _  
_ _For a while now, drowning my thoughts out with sounds…_

Morgana collapsed to her knees, out of energy, out of ammunition, bitter tears blinding her despite her best efforts to block reality out. She had committed worse sins, executing innocent people so the rest would fall into line, but she had never bailed on her own men before, always going behind enemy lines to bring them back, even the lame dogs like Dave and Marco.

She'd royally screwed the mission up, losing most of her men, their deaths a double kick in the gut. If Wade and the others had gotten out, if he hadn't wasted time playing the hero, waiting for her, if they could maybe reach Marco, she could salvage something from the situation, but she didn't know, and she might never know. The only saving grace left to her was that Dwight and the others were long gone, meaning that moment of weakness would never be brought to Negan's attention.

This wasn't the first time she'd fucked up, but she'd always brought the mission back from the brink at the last minute, forcing herself to get her head back in the game. Her recklessness cloaked her incompetency, but it looked like her luck had finally ran out. She'd lost men before, but not on this scale, with nothing to claw back from the chaos, no supplies or chattels to balance their losses, making the mission a complete and utter disaster.

She stood up, the sunlight piercing her eyes like shards of glass, forcing her to shield her face from its glare with the back of her hand. Three roamers stumbled towards her, more in the distance, but she'd lost the rest by sacrificing Dave, the dead descending upon him like locusts, tearing him apart with their bare hands. Drawing out her machete, she took out the trio, shaking from head to foot as she did so, her breath coming in harsh rasps, her lungs feeling like they were on fire.

For a moment, she felt like she was going to faint, joining the corpses littering the ground, but the overwhelming instinct to survive forced her forwards, heading further into hell. She staggered and stumbled through the trees, trying to stay ahead of those still on her trail, knowing they wouldn't stop, that they would never stop, running her into the ground, not stopping until they stripped the skin from her bones.

* * *

"Back away from the fuckin' bike."

Daryl turned around, only to find himself facing the barrel of a gun, not knowing both chambers were empty, only knowing surprised surrender. As Morgana stared him down, amber eyes oddly empty, she didn't see Daryl, only seeing what she could take from him.

She'd been stumbling through endless undergrowth, each footstep taking her further and further away from all that she knew, when a flash of movement from up ahead had caught her attention, Morgana edging closer, only to see a man wheeling his motorbike towards the road, not knowing he had just parted ways with Dwight and Sherry after burying Tina, only knowing she had stumbled across a second chance, that she had to seize it and now.

Morgana had spent her whole life in Negan's shadow, in the old world and the new; it was only and always because of Negan, her existence an exalted one, her every order obeyed because she was of Negan's blood. She had never had to stand on her own two feet, not like this, forced to think for herself. She didn't have Negan's might behind her now, only her two bare hands, and they had to take what they could get.

 _I_ am _just like him_ , Morgan finally realised, _blood will always will out_. She'd always felt herself different from her brother, but deep down, they were cut from the same cloth, ruthlessness running through their veins. "Back away from the bike," Morgana repeated, "or I will end your ass."

"Ain't got much of an ass to end," Daryl growled, refusing to be intimidated, remaining by the bike. He recognized her from earlier on, some jumped up piece of ass on a power trip, all front and no back, getting out of the kitchen when the heat became too hot to handle.

"Do you want me to split you in fuckin' two?" Morgana hissed, tightening her grip on the gun, gambling everything on an illusion. "Straight through to the sinuses?"

"Y'know, that's the best offer I've had since everythin' went to shit."

Morgana studied him for a moment, jaw tightening. " _Y'know_ you could be one of mine," she said bitterly, noting his leather vest and surly stare, "but thank fuck you're not, so fuckin' ditch the bike, and the crossbow while you're at it, along with anythin' else you got."

Daryl stared at her for a long moment, before raising the crossbow strap over his head, dumping the weapon at her feet almost like an offering, along with his hunting knife. Morgana snatched the crossbow up, slinging it over her shoulder, the crossbow clattering against the rifle, even as it was no use to her, not having the strength to draw it, before kicking the knife away, becoming lost from sight amongst the overgrown grass. "Now the bike, sunshine," she ordered again, "just step away from it nice and slow."

"Why?" Daryl drawled, feigning ignorance, the last bastion of rebellion.

"Because it's not yours," Morgana said, tilting her head to the side, "none of it's yours anymore. Your ass is mine."


	5. Joy Ride

**Joy Ride**

 _Come a little closer_ _  
_ _Stumbled in the twilight_ _  
_ _And fell onto the floor of the Mona Lisa_ _  
_ _Dreaming of the free world_ _  
_ _Lipstick on the nightstand_ _  
_ _And demons at the door…_

Morgana stumbled through the trees, her plans of riding into the sunset utterly and completely shot to shit, the dead on her heels yet again. In the end, she'd ditched Daryl and the crossbow, only stealing the motorbike instead. Unlike her brother, she wasn't a hoarder, only taking what she needed. She had been riding the road, not caring about catching her bearings, only that she was on the move, chasing down her demons, but it had been only to almost crash into them instead, hundreds haunting the road, stretching into the distance as far as the eye could see.

She'd ridden the bike off-road, ditching it amongst the trees, trying to lose herself in the unknown again, losing her radio along the way. Several times she'd fallen to her knees, and several times she'd forced herself up onto her feet again, terror propelling her forwards. Morgana didn't dare to look behind her in fear of what she might see, only focusing on what was in front of her, the trees now thinning, revealing what looked to be a road ahead.

Gasping, she crawled up the incline, only to collapse onto the asphalt, her amber eyes widening at the makeshift metal barriers set up along the road, the car and RV parked alongside it, all indications of existence. Once, Morgana would have coldly and calculatingly noted such signs, seeing them as markers of new territories to be conquered, expanding her brother's borders, but that had been before.

Now she was desperate, only wanting comfort and not to conquer, the hours spent away from the homestead reducing her to her knees. Such an extreme shift of attitude wasn't instantaneous, but a silent encroachment of her very existence, invading and infesting. Morgana had been slowly but surely becoming disillusioned with her way of life, only obeying her brother because she knew better not to, whilst her ego had enjoyed having her every whim executed. She'd been torn in two, knowing she was weak despite being strong, always unconsciously searching for escape, and some instinct told her she'd now found it.

Morgana swung herself up the RV steps, her rifle rattling against her spine, only to crash face-first onto the floor as it suddenly revved into life, taking off down the road. "Motherfuckin' fuck!" she screamed, feeling herself sliding back out of the door, desperately grabbing a table leg just ahead of her.

"What the fuck!?" a man yelled, the RV picking up speed, its walls rattling, Morgana being violently swung from side to side, almost like the RV was trying to spit her back out onto the road.

"Stop the fuckin' RV!" Morgana screeched, jamming her feet either side of the doorway, feeling the wind rush past her.

But nobody answered her order, the last she would probably give, Morgana scrunching up her eyes, only focusing on holding on, teeth clenched together, the floor shaking beneath her body like a bronco trying to buck her off.

Time sped up and slowed down, Morgana daring to open one eye, only to realise it was the RV that was finally slowing down. As it did, she tried and failed to get up, only for somebody to do it for her, hauling her to her feet by the scruff of her leather jacket and slamming her against the wall.

"Who the _fuck_ are you?" Rick hissed, his face inches from hers, only for Morgana to suddenly silence him with her lips, sliding her hand up the back of his neck with one hand whilst grabbing his Colt Python out of his belt with the other.

"I could ask you the same question," Morgana spat, shoving him away from her, holding the gun up to his head, making Rick freeze, "but I'm the type to kiss first and talk later."

Rick just stared at her in disbelief, still trying to wrap his head around her actually being here, that this was really happening.

"Oh God, I can't do this," Morgana said suddenly, lowering the gun, "I – I just can't." She collapsed down into a chair, sliding the gun across the Formica covered table to Rick instead. "Go on, fuckin' put me down," she snapped, "you'd be fuckin' doin' me a favour."

Again, Rick just stared at her before snapping himself back into semblance, snatching up the gun and throwing himself into the front seat of the RV instead, grabbing his radio as he moved. "Glenn, I'm in place by my best guess," he gasped, glancing at Morgana now slumped against the off yellow wall, "you guys make it back yet?"

Silence.

"Glenn," Rick repeated, only to receive static for his answer. "Tobin, are you there?" he demanded, trying another channel. "Daryl?" he said, hoping against hope, feeling like he was starting to fall, that he had failed -

"I'm here," Daryl said, the familiar gravelly voice crackling over the radio making Morgana's head snap up, but Rick was too relieved to hear Daryl to notice her reaction.

"What's goin' on?" Rick said, his voice cracking, setting his Colt Python down on the dashboard.

"Shit went down," Daryl said, examining the truck he'd found hidden amongst the trees.

"Shit always goes down, darlin'," Abraham said, more than making his presence heard, Sasha playfully elbowing him in the side to shut up, "now where the hell are you, Dolly Dixon?"

"Lost the bike," Daryl said through gritted teeth, "am j'st sourcin' some alternative vehicular transportation."

"Stop throwin' fancy-pants parlay around and get your ass into gear," Abraham barked, "and meet us at the next rendezvous for some TLC and waffles drippin' with syrup, sugarbun."

"I ain't into gingers," Daryl said deadpan, Morgana freezing, remembering Marcos' s words too late, _we fucked up, hit the wrong people, some ginger dude and a woman, along with some motherfucker on a motorbike_ -

"Just keep leadin' them," Rick interjected, tired of the horseplay, "then meet up with me" - His head snapped up at the distant sound of gunfire, making Morgana do the same, their gazes crashing together, Morgana finally realising the full enormity of the shit-storm she'd flown into.

"What's that?" Sasha demanded, hearing the faint echo of bullets flying.

"It's back home," Rick said, gripping the radio for dear life, "but we gotta sit with it and hope they can handle it. I... I think they can. They have to. We – we have to keep goin' forward for them - we can't turn back because we're afraid." He was trying to talk himself out of turning back, out of finding his family -

\- "We ain't afraid," Abraham said firmly.

"This is for them," Rick said, bowing his head, "goin' back now before it's done, that'll... that'll be for us."

All he received for his answer was silence, and he clicked the radio off, only to start violently as Morgana suddenly appeared beside him, creeping up as quiet as a cat. Without a word, she reached up and rummaged around for anything edible, glancing almost absentmindedly down, only to see his still bleeding hand, not missing the gold band on his ring finger. Exhaling sharply, she grabbed a wad of napkins and shoved them into his palm, forcing him to clench his fingers down to staunch the bloodflow.

"Who are _you?_ " Rick asked through gritted teeth, trying and failing to make head or tail of her, not having the time for anything else.

But before she could frame a suitably scathing reply, Rick's head snapped up, and he suddenly shoved her down onto the seat, throwing his body across hers as bullets whizzed overhead, shattering the windscreen. As the Wolf rushed forwards, Rick rugby-tackled him, dragging him down to the ground, only for another Wolf to appear out of nowhere and leap on his back, grabbing Rick in a chokehold from behind.

As Rick tried to throw him off, the Wolf suddenly fell still, Morgana yanking her machete out of his back, face feral, before coldly gunning the other Wolf down with Rick's Colt Python. She tilted her head to the side, surveying her handiwork, before wordlessly handing Rick back his weapon. Rick stared at her as he took it, not knowing if she was enemy or ally, before kneeling down and rolling the Wolf she'd shot over onto his back, noting the 'W' carved on his forehead.

Glancing up at Morgana, he briefly flirted with the theory she was with the Wolves, but he instantly dismissed it, instinctively sensing it didn't add up. Pawing through the pockets, he froze, his fingers awkwardly closing around a jar of baby food, making his world implode from within. He unsteadily got to his feet, staring at the jar like it was a grenade about to go off, Morgana looking at him like he was mad, only for her head to jerk up, caught by movement in the rear-view mirror.

Rick followed her gaze, before suddenly snatching up his rifle from the floor, shoving Morgana aside as he opened fire, drilling holes in the walls, teeth bared as the bullets flew, Morgana diving under the table for useless cover, clamping her hands over her ears. And then there was merciful silence, Rick tossing aside his rifle, throwing himself into the front seat of the RV again, trying to start the engine, again and again, only for it to sputter out of existence.

He sat there, lips trembling, thinking of his family, how he should have been there to protect them, instead of trying to protect them from here, and he suddenly got to his feet, snatching up his satchel of knives and other sundries, slinging it across his back along with his rifle, keeping his Colt Python drawn as he made for the doorway.

"You comin' or not?" he fired at Morgana still hiding under the table.

"Do I have a fuckin' choice?" Morgana retorted.

"No," Rick said coldly, and then he was gone, Morgana hesitating before throwing herself into the fray after him, following what would end everything she had ever been.


	6. House Of Cards

**House Of Cards**

Rick weaved around the Walkers as he ran, their rotting fingers reaching for his flesh, Morgana elbowing them aside, everything in slow motion, every breath feeling like fire in her throat. Rick was yelling, words that were incomprehensible, walls rising up to meet them, walls that whirled wildly in front of Morgana's eyes.

"Open the gate!" Rick bellowed. "Open it _now!_ "

Morgana suddenly stumbled, crashing forwards, slamming into a Walker, knocking it down as she fell, Rick grabbing the back of her leather jacket, yanking her up onto her feet again, face furious, teeth bared, blue eyes blazing.

"Move your ass _now!_ " he screamed in her face, spit flecking the air, and somehow her feet were carrying her through the fracas, Morgana's mind becoming dangerously blank, the full realisation she was alone and without aid finally hitting her. She was no longer Negan's heir apparent, but quarry, fair game for the dead and the living.

She fell to the ground, Rick collapsing to his knees beside her, the gate being slammed shut behind them, Morgana rolling onto her back, staring up at the blindingly blue sky, tears tumbling out of the corners of her eyes. They had left the RV, striking for the road, only to find themselves surrounded by roamers, Morgana back to where she began, trying to outrun the undead. As a crowd of people gathered around her and the still prone Rick, she dimly realised she hadn't found the shelter she so desperately sought, but had fallen headfirst into a pit filled with snakes.

* * *

"Who the hell are you?"

Morgana raised her head, amber eyes tiredly mocking, black hair falling across her face. She'd been dragged into a fancy-assed mansion, Morgana too exhausted to resist, her leather jacket ripped from her, along with her weapons. She was now in some swanky kitchen, hands and ankles bound before her, Rick looming over her, hiding his confusion with anger. At first sight, she looked like she'd been walking the road, a wanderer without anywhere to call home, her face filthy, her hair a mess, but on closer inspection, she was suspiciously well-fed, eyes unravaged by what kept others awake at night, carrying that conspicuous look of someone who had a camp.

"I said _who the hell are you?_ " Rick repeated through gritted teeth, Carol crossing her arms over her chest, Morgan's gaze fixed on Morgana with alarming intensity.

"I'm the chick who just saved your ass," Morgana spat, _and the chick who's brother is going to take over your toy-town and wipe it off the face of this infested earth if you resist_ , she silently added with a bitter snort, wondering what Negan would say if he saw her now, trussed up like a turkey.

"What's so funny?" Rick snapped, tilting his head to the side.

What was funny was the state she was in, but some instinct warned Morgana to shut her mouth. There would be payback for Marco and the others attacking this Rick's people, and she realised with tired resignation that she'd need to leave town before the shit hit the fan. She had seen the way Rick had taken down these characters with the W's carved on their foreheads, ruthlessness written across his face, a cold callousness that struck her as strangely more deadly than her brother's bouts of baseball bat wielding murder.

"I saved your ass," Morgana reiterated, wanting nothing more than a bottle of bourbon and a warm bed, maybe a hot shower as well while she was at it.

"And I saved yours," Rick retorted, "now who the hell are you?"

Morgana bowed her head, barely knowing who she was now, not recognizing the bone tired bitch she had become. She had purloined and punished, killed and conquered, yet when faced with the first of real resistance, she had collapsed like a house of cards. A few hours in the hinterland had reduced her to a wreck, Morgana a hollow shell of the anti-hero her ego liked to pretend she was, always sticking two fingers up at the establishment.

But she knew deep down this day had always been coming, when she'd be forced to face herself, no longer hiding from her hypocrisy. She was the one who had helped Dwight, Sherry and Tina leave the compound after catching Dwight stealing the case of insulin, Morgana giving them a head-start, only to head the search to bring them back, knowing if she did, she was damned as well, Morgana's conscience caught between a rock and a hard place.

"My name is Marion," Morgana said coldly, raising her head, using her mother's name to hide her own.

"Where's your camp, Marion?" Morgan asked, having read the same signs of comparative civilization on her skin like Rick had.

"I don't have one."

"It doesn't look like that to me," Rick said, stooping down so he was eye level with her, something sparking in her amber gaze, making him involuntarily remember the kiss in the RV.

"What's it to you, Blue Eyes?" she said, thinking how her brother would love to get his hands on this place, that it would only be a matter of time before he stumbled across this seeming sanctuary. The only reason he hadn't yet because it was so out of the way, Negan still slaughtering his way across Washington, forcing communities to their knees, Morgana hearing through hearsay about how he'd secured the surrender of the Hilltop by smashing in the skull of a sixteen year old boy, Lucille kissing the kid to death.

"What you runnin' from, Marion?" Rick asked quietly.

 _From my family. From my future_. "From myself," Morgana whispered, closing her eyes.

 _Before you jump in_ _  
_ _Tryin' to get under my skin_ _  
_ _Something I should let you know_ _  
_ _It's gonna be impossible…_

* * *

Morgana emerged from the shower, Rick reluctantly giving her permission to clean herself up, Carol keeping guard outside the door, but Morgana had no intention of escaping until she'd scrubbed herself raw, shedding blood and filth. But once this aim was achieved, she'd wasted no time in all but tearing the place apart searching for a weapon, but short of smashing up the mirror, she'd found nothing, making her boot the wall in frustration.

She had made a monumental mistake in following Rick into the lion's den, but she'd been desperate enough to seek shelter in the arms of the enemy, not wanting to be flung back into the fracas again, forced to face this fucked up world alone. In that moment, Morgana realised her Achilles heel, that she couldn't be alone, having never been, always having Negan, never knowing what it was like to not have him standing between her and relentless reality.

"You decent?" an antebellum voice called through the door, pure Georgia peach, making Morgana's head snap up.

"No I'm fuckin' not," Morgana yelled back, snatching up the pair of shorts and vest top that had been lain out for her, pulling them over her almost indecent underwear, before lacing up her boots, Rick having removed the knife hidden in them.

"Are you done? I don't have all day."

Morgana flung open the door, face feral, only to see a stranger, Carol gone, leaving a young woman with dark hair pulled back in a low pony-tail, her green gaze oddly glittering. "If you need to piss, be my guest," Morgana said sarcastically, gesturing to the bathroom behind her.

"I don't need your permission to piss," Maggie said just as sarcastically, "now get downstairs. Rick wants to speak to you."

"What, you're my escort?" Morgana said, folding her arms across her chest.

"Yeah," Maggie said coldly, "but I bite in case you try any bullshit."

Morgana strode ahead, not bothering to deign this with an answer, Maggie at her heels, gun drawn. Carol met them at the top of the stairs, Morgana resisting the insane urge to push her down them, before following her into the kitchen, Rick turning around at their entrance.

"Hey," he said uneasily, his feeble attempt at civility sending Morgana's suspicions into overdrive.

"What you got up your Southern sleeve?" she spat, backing away from him.

"This," Rick said simply, and then he was suddenly on top of her, cuffing her to him, Morgana yelping in shock. "It's only until you talk," he said abruptly, instantly silencing her, "but if you insist on keepin' your can closed, well, welcome to Wayne's World."


	7. Paint It Black

**Paint It Black**

"Lookin' good, farmboy," Morgana drawled as Rick dragged her down the sidewalk, refusing to slow down his stride, Morgana digging in her heels every step of the way.

Rick glanced over his shoulder at her, nostrils flaring in annoyance, Morgana bestowing an exaggerated look of appreciation upon him. He had hastily washed and cleaned up, checking in with his children as Carol and Maggie apprised him of the attack on Alexandria, Rick now forcing himself to face the others, steeling himself for a showdown. Ever since his arrival in Alexandria, death and destruction had followed in his wake, Rick bringing unbridled reality within the walls, but this was the heaviest blow yet, Rick secretly wondering if he could bear the burden.

"Nice fuckin' ass," Morgana observed, giving it a slap for good measure, making Rick suddenly turn and reel her in, painfully yanking her arm, his face inches from hers. "You know, you don't strike me as the type," Morgana said suggestively, glancing down at the handcuffs binding them together, before looking up through her lashes at him, silently daring him to do his worst.

Rick's jaw tightened. "You make a livin' out of bein' an asswipe?" he said coldly. "Or does it just come naturally?"

"You're obviously a man who doesn't know how to appreciate a fuckin' compliment," Morgana said coolly. "Just stand back and let me appreciate how fuckin' fine you are."

Rick just shook his head before hauling her on, realising too late handcuffing himself to her wasn't one of his better ideas. But there was nowhere secure to hold her, Morgana consequently presenting another problem for him to deal with, Rick already trying to take on too much as it was, having no other option but to.

As he approached the others gathered around the gate, listening to the snarls of the dead surrounding them, corralling, caging, he set his jaw again, unconsciously squaring his shoulders. "You can hear it," he called out, raising his voice, making everyone turn around, "some of you saw it – _they_ got back here, half of them, still enough to surround us twenty deep" -

\- "You talkin' about them roamers outside?" Morgana said lazily, reluctantly lengthening her stride to keep up with Rick, ignoring the ache in her arm. "Or are we discoursin' on the subject of some runaway Smurfs perhaps?"

"Shurrup," Rick snapped, snapping to a stop at the same time, making Morgana stumble. "Look, I know you're scared," he said to the crowd, cutting to the chase, "you haven't seen anythin' like this. You haven't been through anythin' like this. But we're safe for now" -

\- "Safe as fish in a barrel," Morgana beamed, her voice carrying, making Rick round on her, his face furious. As the crowd looked at each other, a rising murmur of muttering starting to fill the air, Rick tried and failed to stare Morgana down. "Go on, hit me, Blue Eyes," she goaded, tilting her chin, "fuckin' sock it to me."

"Who the fuck are you?" Rick hissed, looming over her, eyes narrowing. "Do you even know who you're dealin' with?"

"All I know is I'm dealin' with a dick who's obviously just only very recently ascended the fuckin' throne," Morgana hissed back, "who very nearly has a fuckin' French revolution on his hands. Your precious populace don't fuckin' trust you, my princelin'. You fuckin' brought hell to their front door."

"What the hell do you know?" Rick said incredulously. "You've barely been here for five minutes – five minutes I didn't even have to goddamn give you!"

"I don't know what I deserved to have whatever twister dump me in this fuckin' shithole," Morgana retorted, "but let me tell you, Dorothy ain't feelin' the fuckin' Oz vibe, okay? And let me give you a fuckin' word of advice, Blue Eyes, your fuckin' Munchkins ain't exactly doin' a hoedown at havin' the dead on their doorstep, and they are gonna lay that shit on you – fuckin' _tar_ you with it, man" -

\- "You know what I know?" Rick snapped, stooping down so he was eye-level with her. "I know that you're just a big mouth on your last goddamn legs, snatchin' at any straw goin', tryin' to bluff your way out of a bad turn" -

\- "Rick, there's a time and place," Carol said coldly, making both Rick and Morgana turn to face her, "just lock her up and be done with it."

"Are you kiddin'?" Rick said with a bitter laugh. "I wouldn't trust her as far as I can throw her. I want her where I can see her."

"You've got the best fuckin' seat in the house, baby," Morgana said, pressing herself against him, "but I'm the fuckin' star of the fuckin' show."

With a snarl, Rick shoved her from him, only for Morgana to snap to a stop again, caught by her cuff. "Fuckin' hell, man," he muttered, his eye catching Jessie's, the sight of her pale face making him want to swear again.

"Rick," Carol snapped, losing her cool. "Get your head in the goddamn game. We have bigger problems to deal with than our precious princess here."

Rick nodded, before taking a step forwards, forcing himself to get a grip. "Accordin' to Tobin, the panel the truck hit seems to be intact," he called out, claiming the crowd's attention for his own again, his voice rising above the mutinous muttering, "but it was reinforced just in case. Either way, the walls are goin' to hold together. _We_ are goin' to hold together. The others are goin' to be back - Daryl, Abraham, Sasha, they have vehicles"...

As Rick reasoned and reassured, outlining the idea that Daryl and the others would return, leading away the Walkers with their vehicles, that until then they should stay quiet, keeping noise to a minimum and their blinds closed, maybe even turning off their lights altogether, Morgana forced herself to hold her head high, knowing better than to fall for Rick's fairytales.

Her men had waged war on these people Rick was staking everything on, and if they returned, again, it would be the worse for her. Her false facade would be destroyed by the simple fact her face was now known. Her only option was to escape before they came crawling back, but with what these strangers called Walkers surrounding the walls, Morgana didn't see how this could be achieved. All she could do was wait until a window of opportunity presented itself, if it even did.

 _I look inside myself and see my heart is black_  
 _I see my red door I must have it painted black_  
 _Maybe then I'll fade away and not have to face the facts_  
 _It's not easy facing up when your whole world is black..._


	8. To Kill Thy King

**To Kill Thy King**

"This ain't workin' out."

Morgana just raised an eyebrow. "You dumpin' me, Blue Eyes?" she pretended to pout. "You fuckin' breakin' my heart here."

Rick just looked out at the sea of Walkers surrounding the gates and walls. He had paced the perimeter of Alexandria, dragging Morgana with him, observing Deanna's dream slowly collapse in on itself. There had been almost mutiny at the pantry, Spencer stepping in at the last minute, shaming everybody into accepting Olivia's decree their supplies had to be stretched out for the time being, nobody supporting her schemes such as adding water to soup and sauces to make more out of their meals. Even as the son struggled to hold everything together, the mother wasn't, Deanna wandering the walls like a lost soul, still reeling from losing her husband and youngest son, the shock of her idyll imploding only serving to stun her further.

Rick fumbled in his pocket for the handcuff key, putting his plan into action, caught between a rock and a hard place. Compared to the chaos unfolding around him, Morgana was the least of his problems right now. Jessie had just brought him the news that one of her friends had killed herself, Jessie having to put her down, the first in a spate of suicides Rick was grimly anticipating. Everybody within Alexandria was convinced they were going to die, even his own people, and he didn't know how to deal with it. Morale was at an all-time low, and with Denise falling to pieces inside the Infirmary, Rick wasn't convinced those that had survived the disastrous quarry expedition and the Wolves attack, would make it through the night.

"What you fuckin' doin'?" Morgana demanded, suddenly suspicious, catching a glimpse of the handcuff key in Rick's hand. He had hauled her up to the platform by the gate, and she was certain it wasn't to appreciate the spectacular view of the dead desperate to rip their flesh apart. "You gonna chuck me over the wall or somethin'?"

"Don't tempt me," Rick said coldly, before unlocking the cuffs that bound them together, Morgana massaging her chafed wrists, staring at him in shock. "Maybe I'm insane doin' this," he said, studying Morgana through narrowed eyes, "but like you keep sayin', you saved my ass out there. That must count for somethin', right?"

Morgana forced herself to hold his gaze, hiding her bewilderment at herself for having saved him, despite knowing damn well that it was his people that had slaughtered hers. "Don't start gettin' starry-eyed," she said equally as coldly, forcing herself to forget the memory of Wade and her other men for the time being, "I needed a ride out of hell. That's why I didn't put one between your eyes."

"What, you failed your drivin' test?"

"I don't need no fuckin' chauffeur," Morgana flared up, "I just needed a goddamn ride, okay!?"

"You could killed me with my own Colt, Marion," Rick pressed, "taken the RV, but you didn't. _Why?_ "

Morgana looked away, something about her mother's name on his lips striking her through the soul. Her mother would have wept to see what she had become, trying to wash the blood off Morgana's hands with her own tears.

"You said you were runnin' from yourself," Rick said, his voice softening against his will. "What did you mean by that?"

"You really gonna let me loose inside these walls?" Morgana snapped, avoiding answering his question. "Settin' a fuckin' stranger amongst the sheep?"

Rick looked at her for a long moment, knowing Carol would go crazy at what he was doing, but all he could hear was Hershel's voice echoing down the dark days, saying that people could change for the better, that they _could_ come back from what this world had made them become. "I'm givin' you a chance," Rick said slowly, "it's up to you whether you take it or not."

"You've got _kids_ in here, asshole," Morgana said in disbelief. "I could slit their fuckin' throats in their sleep for all you know."

"I know you won't."

Morgana just stared at him. "This isn't your style," she said, shaking her head, the little of what she'd learned of him sitting at odds with his actions now, "so why is the old dog tryin' to learn new tricks, huh?"

Rick's jaw tightened. "Consider yourself my pet project," he said sarcastically, "but truth is, I'm sick of havin' you handcuffed to me."

"Well, lock me up."

"There's nowhere to goddamn put you," Rick snapped. "And even if I did, I've got this funny feelin' you would bust out as soon as my back was turned." He looked at her again, his eyes narrowing once more. "Why you so keen on gettin' corralled anyways?" he said, brow furrowing. "That ain't your problem to worry about, but mine."

"I'm just makin' sure you consider all the fuckin' angles," Morgana said tiredly, leaning against the wooden post, "even if my rack is as equally hot as my ass."

Rick raised his eyes to the sky. "You got a camp, Marion?" he asked, deliberately changing the subject from her charms. "You look like a lady who has a soft pillow to rest her head on every night."

"Look, why don't we make a deal, Blue Eyes?" Morgana said, straightening up. "You let me walk around, and I don't try any funny stuff, okay? Then once the shit has stopped hittin' the fuckin' fan, I waltz away from here, no questions asked."

"I was gonna ask you three questions actually."

"And what might they be?"

"How many Walkers have you killed, how many people have you killed and why?"

Morgana just looked at Rick, before bursting out laughing. "You seriously expect people to keep a tally like fuckin' trainspotters or somethin'!?" she exclaimed. "That's the biggest croc of shit that I've heard since the world went to the fuckin' dogs."

"What, like this delusion you've got of walkin' around in here without us knowin' where you come from and what you've done?"

"Oh, now I catch the catch," Morgana said, sidling up to Rick, taking satisfaction in the sight of making him tense up. She had met men like Rick before, the steady and reliable suburban Joe, marrying their childhood sweetheart and raising a couple of anklebiters. They went to church every Sunday and only drank on the weekends, maybe a couple of Buds in front of the football game. In their well-ordered world, women like her were whores, but she'd long since discovered there was darkness beneath the beige; with darkness inevitably becoming drawn to darkness, and now here they were, Morgana's face inches from Rick's, his gaze locked with hers.

"There ain't no catch," Rick said coolly, hiding his unease, "I just happen to value honesty."

"I don't harm you or yours," Morgana reiterated just as coolly, "and you return the fuckin' favour. Then I walk out of here once the coast is clear. So do we have a deal or not?"

Rick's jaw tightened again. "Okay, we have a deal," he said, deciding to just bide his time, "once the walls are clear, you go, no questions asked."

Morgana studied him, knowing he was just humouring her, that he wouldn't let this or her go. He wasn't the kind of man to bring somebody like her into a place like this, then let them walk free, only to bring hell back in their wake. He had 99 problems on his plate, and he just didn't need her to make a hundred. So he was cutting her some slack until the old man upstairs saw fit to cut him some slack in turn. "Done and fuckin' done," Morgana agreed abruptly.

 _I should've learned to let you stay_  
 _You didn't want me all the time_  
 _But you were worth it anyway…_


End file.
